


just about

by stxrks



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 03:37:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18652120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stxrks/pseuds/stxrks
Summary: Prompt: Theon x Sansa || arguing but secretly being turned on by it





	just about

Sansa arrives home from her late-night studying session at half past two, with the sole intention of falling straight into her bed and letting sleep claim her. She’s expecting a silent house, maybe Jon still up watching late night telly with Ghost. Instead, she finds a house party in full swing. Shitty techno is blaring out of Robb’s old speakers, and somebody’s salvaged the Christmas lights from the attic and sloppily thrown them around the stair banisters. Most of the guests are friends of Arya, eighteen and nineteen-year olds who are clearly struggling to hold down their drink, with the odd friend of Jon or Robb somewhere among the crowd. A very drunk friend of Arya's wolf whistles at her as she walks in.   

Sansa scowls. 

“That’s it,” she snaps. “Party’s over.” 

A few people with drunkenly misplaced courage begin to argue, but Sansa is absolute. “Out,” she demands of everyone, not afraid to shove people. “That means everyone. Loras, get your tongue out of Renly’s mouth and  _go_.”  

Arya scowls as she watches her party guests disperse. “You’re such a bitch,” she says. 

“Yeah, whatever,” Sansa snaps. “Cry me a river.” She glowers at Robb. “You should have put a stop to this.”  

Robb looks aghast. “What was I supposed to do?” 

Sansa rolls her eyes. “Not encourage Arya to host a goddamn house party the second Mum and Dad leave town like you so clearly did. And it’s your reading week for God’s sake. Don’t you have an exam tomorrow?” 

Robb yawns. “I’ll make something up,” he decides.  

Sansa rolls her eyes and doesn’t waste her time arguing, instead chiding the remaining stragglers. She doesn’t bother wasting her time with the usual suspects – Ygritte, Gendry, Jojen – who may as well live in the Stark household for all the time they spend here. Ygritte ends up pretty much carrying Jon to his room, who’s waxing poetically about how much he loves her – a clear indication he’s been on the tequila tonight, while Jojen and Bran both seem to have remarkably clear heads about the two of them, given how much pot they’ve probably consumed tonight. Jojen wheels Bran to his room, avoiding Sansa’s glare all the while. Smart. 

“Where the hell is Rickon?” she demands of Arya, who’s ignoring her question in favour of muttering away to Gendry and glaring at Sansa every now and then. 

Robb volunteers information instead. “Last time I saw him, he was trying to show Shireen how much beer he could down in ten seconds, in an awkward attempt to flirt. He’ll show up tomorrow. Or at least his body will.” 

“Damn,” a familiar voice says from the door. “Where’d the party go? I just ordered pizza.” 

Sansa groans and pinches the bridge of her nose. She’s not in the state of mind to deal with this. “Go to bed, Theon.” 

Theon grins at her, refusing to let her obvious bad mood deter him. “Who shit in your cereal Sansa?” 

She glares at him some more, not wanting to rise to his bait, but needing to retort all the same. “Shut up. You look ridiculous, by the way.” That’s sort of a lie. He does look ridiculous, messy haired, shirtless and covered in sharpie pen, with the odd specks of glitter that are indicative of a hookup with Daenerys, who’s prone to covering her face and body in glitter before a party. He also looks annoyingly good, his abs stupidly defined and the whole messy hair thing working irritably well for him. The thought of him and Daenerys together makes Sansa’s stomach tighten in ways she doesn’t even want to think about. 

Theon just grins some more. “I’d rather look ridiculous than have a stick up my arse like you so clearly do.” 

Arya pointedly sniggers at that. 

“Theon,” Robb says warningly. 

“What?” Theon says. “She does.” 

Sansa simply glowers. 

“Whatever,” Robb says uneasily. He glances around. “I’m going to bed. I’ll see you guys in the morning.” 

“That’s code for ‘ _don’t come into my room, I’m fucking Jeyne tonight_ ’,” Arya says smugly. She pulls Gendry to his feet. “Which reminds me.” She winks at the rest of them, and Gendry does his best to avoid looking at any of them. 

“That’s exactly what it is,” Robb says. He nudges Theon. “That means you sleep on the couch, tonight.” 

“Robb,” says Theon, clutching his heart in mock pain. “I thought we had something special.” 

“Mmhmm,” Robb says. He glances at Sansa. “Don’t kill me but I thought you’d be staying at Margaery’s house tonight, so I told Sam and Gilly they could crash in your room.” 

Sansa glowers. “What the fuck, Robb?” 

“You always crash at Margaery’s after a late night studying session,” Robb protests.  

“Not since she started seeing Arianne,” Sansa says with an eyeroll. “She’s ridiculously loud in bed, but I’m beginning to think Margaery’s couch and Arianne’s sex noises would have still been a better option than coming back here.” 

“Well, if you want to be the one to wake up Sam and Gilly …. ”  

Sansa’s tempted to give Robb the finger. “You know I’m not going to do that.” 

Robb grins. “You’re a dote, Sansa.” He looks between her and Theon anxiously as he leaves. “Try not to murder each other before the morning.” 

“Won’t be a problem,” Theon says seriously. “I think Sansa’s stick in her arse is going to kill her before anyone else gets the chance.” 

“Shut up,” Sansa mutters darkly.  

She grabs her emergency blanket from the cupboard and sits on the recliner across the room from Theon and the couch, rolling her eyes at his expression. “I’m not your mother. Get your own blanket. You know where they are.” 

“Pretty sure that’s the only one left,” Theon says. “The rest are either covered in Jon’s puke or jizz or a mixture of both. 

“That is disgusting,” Sansa snaps, inwardly groaning at the visual. “You’re literally the grossest person I know.” 

Theon is unperturbed by her insult. “Don’t shoot the messenger, I’m just reporting what allegedly went down in the cupboard under the stairs between Jon, Ygritte and a full bottle of vodka during seven minutes in heaven.” The fact that he doesn’t have a blanket, and still doesn’t have a shirt means that his abs are directly in Sansa’s line of vision, much to her aggravation. She can’t even remember exactly when Theon got hot. He had just been Theon for years, then disappeared to college with Robb for a semester and came back with abs of steel, a well-earned reputation for being a womanizer, and a sizableamount of girls clamouring for his phone number. 

“Why are you like this?” she snaps. “Do you have any tact? Or filter? Or a basic grasp on general human manners.” 

His grin vanishes at this. “Oh, get off your high horse.” 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“You know exactly what I mean,” he says. “God but Arya’s right about you, sometimes.” 

Sansa throws her one and only cushion at him, and immediately regrets it. Now she’s cushionless and her aim was shit anyway, the cushion flying several feet wide of Theon’s face. 

“You’re the worst,” she says. “Literally, the worst. You’re selfish and annoying and probably the reason Robb’s going to end up flunking his degree and you - “ She struggles to finish her words, trying to quell the feeling in her stomach, that’s not motivated entirely by anger.  

“You really think you’re above and beyond everyone,” he snaps back. “Studying your fancy law degree and dating a Tyrell, and acting better than the rest of your family because they know how to take a chill pill once in a while.” 

Sansa wants to retort back to that, but feels a lump form in her throat. “Willas dumped me,” she mutters. 

Theon’s face falls at this and his anger temporarily fades. “Oh - Sansa, I’m sorry. I didn’t know, Robb didn’t tell me.” 

“He wouldn’t have,” Sansa says. “It only happened last week. I haven’t told anyone yet, except Margaery.”  

“Okay,” says Theon, his voice gentle now. That ignites a whole other feeling in the pits of Sansa’s stomach that she doesn’t even want to begin unpacking. “You, uh, want your cushion back?” 

Sansa snorts. “That’d be nice. Look, I’m sorry about the blanket.” 

“No big deal,” Theon says. “I’ll be fine.” He grabs Sansa’s cushion from the floor and approaches her with it. “For what it’s worth,” he says, his old grin making a reappearance. “Willas Tyrell is a goddamn idiot.” 

Sansa’s heart flutters lightly at his words, even more so when his finger’s touch hers as he hands her the cushion. “Stay here,” she says. 

“What?” 

“It’s a big recliner,” she says, blushing. “We can share the blanket.” 

He looks at her slowly. “Are you sure?” 

She rolls her eyes, and raises the blanket on one side, indicating for him to sit down. “Stop being so polite. It doesn’t suit you.” 

He grins at that. “Alright.” 

He’s sitting down beside her for all of three seconds, and has just managed to say, “Sansa - “ before Sansa cracks. 

She kisses him. 

He kisses her back with a moan that sends all kinds of sensations through her body, biting at her lip gently. It’s the kind of kiss that is long overdue, passion and familarity mingled together. They break apart, breathing heavily, and looking one another in the eye. 

“Sansa,” he says again, absently tucking a stray hair behind her ear.  

“C’mon,” she urges, breathlessly. “You’ve got a reputation to uphold.” 

He grins some more at that, and like that his hand has found its way into her pants, and Sansa moans. He’s unbelievably good at this, drawing circles around her clit with his thumb as she moans into his mouth. It’s next to no time before she’s as shirtless as he is, mere minutes before she can feel her own wetness. 

“Theon,” she whines. “Please.” 

He doesn’t need to be told twice, and pushes inside her, and Sansa sees stars. This is  _good_ , so much better than her last few times with Willas, desperate attempts to salvage a dying relationship through mediocre sex. Between him being inside her as she rides him, his fingers still working magic all the way up to her release. 

She’s barely had time to catch her breath when the doorbell rings. 

Sansa wants to scream. “Who is that - “ 

Theon leaps up, smirking. “A godsend.” 

When she arrives back moments later with a steaming hot pizza, she wants to kiss him again. So she does. And then again. And then once or twice more. 

They end up sharing the pizza, Sansa picking up the mushrooms and reprimanding him for his shit choice in toppings 

She absently picks at the glitter specks on his chest. “Did you hook up with Daenerys last night?” 

“Nah,” says Theon. “I thought she was hitting on me but turns out she was just trying to get Asha’s number. Sansa giggles at that as she rests her head against his chest, feeling the late hour of the night and her full stomach taking their toll on her. She’s woken up again in what feels like seconds, but can’t be because the sun is well risen by now, the clock in the sitting room announcing a time of ten past eight. 

“Sansa,” says Theon gently. It’s him that had woken her. 

“What?” she mutters sleepily, not fully alert to the world. She’s content to nuzzle into his chest some more, fall back asleep. 

“Your family will be getting up soon,” he warns. “Figured you’d probably not want them to find us in this position.” 

This does wake her up, and while she’s upset to lose the warmth of his body against hers, she’s decides it’s probably worth not enduring Arya’s teasing for the foreseeable future.  

She’s glad of his timing, because it’s mere seconds before she’s got herself tucked into her blanket on the sofa when the sitting room door opens and Arya and Gendry appear, the former uncharacteristically quiet, evidently nursing a hangover. 

“Morning,” Sansa says, trying to feign a casual tone. 

“Morning Sansa,” Gendry says cheerfully. “Arya wants you to know she’s sorry for calling you a bitch, and she would apologize herself but she’s worried that she’ll get sick if she tries to talk.” 

From the doorway, where she’s slumped across the floor, Arya gives her a weak thumbs up. 

Jon’s in a worse state than Arya, and Ygritte has to appear to inform everyone that he’s probably not going to be showing his face downstairs until the evening, but he’ll happily pay a tenner to the first person to bring him a black coffee. (Ygritte isn’t allowed near the coffee machine since the infamous incident of her not so accidentally smashing it when she couldn’t get it to work.) 

Sansa decides to be a good Samaritan and brings Jon his coffee. He has his head buried under his covers when she comes in and grunts something that might be a thanks. 

Sam and Gilly arrive downstairs next, both so apologetic to Sansa about staying in her room, that Sansa can barely keep up with their apologies. 

“You must have been so uncomfortable here,” Gilly frets. Sansa catches Theon’s eye at that – he grins. - and assures Gilly she was fine. Sam ends up cooking them all a fry-up so delicious that Sansa couldn’t be mad at the pair of them if she tried.  

Sansa thinks that Bran alone seems to have some idea of what transpired last night between her and Theon, because he keeps smirking at the pair of them. Or maybe that’s just a residue effect of the pot. Whatever.  

Robb appears downstairs next, holding a scrunched up piece of fabric in his hand and announcing that he’s found Rickon.  

“Where was he?” Sansa asks. 

“Ended up falling asleep in the bath,” Robb tells. “Jeyne found him when she went to take a shower.”  

Arya snorts. “Classy.” She then immediately has to rush to the toilet, presumably to get sick. Gendry, ever the perfect boyfriend, accompanies her. 

“Here,” says Robb, throwing the item in his hands at Theon. “We found your shirt. Rickon was using it as a bandana.”   

“Cheers,” says Theon, catching the shirt, tugging it over himself. Sansa is vaguely disappointed to see the abs disappear from view. 

Robb looks between the two of them anxiously. “Were things okay last night? I take it you didn’t murder each other.” 

Sansa feels herself blushing, and prays it’s not too noticeable. 

“Just about yeah,” she says casually.  

“Yeah,” Theon echoes, smiling slightly. “Just about.” 

**Author's Note:**

> this prompt was SO much fun to write. if anyone else wants to request any more ridiculous fluffy prompts so we can all pretend 8x03 didn't happen, i'm taking requests on stxrks.tumblr.com


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